An artist reflects on thriving in the desert

Strong enough to hold my weight and the weight of another, their grayish-white trunks and branches lay barren of leaves all winter. Despite the harsh desert climate, they seem to still grow with little water.

It was last summer that it started. Laying in my hammock, I would feel water drop from the clear blue sky onto my warm skin.

Tiny droplets sprinkled my face and arms.

“Do you feel it raining?” I’d ask a reclining hammock friend.

“No. There are no clouds in the sky,” they’d reply.

Every time I felt a water droplet on my skin, I would rush to find it.

But it would cease to be there.

As the mysterious disappearing act continued in this way, I started to feel I was going mad.

Weeks into spring this year, I went out to revisit the trees to discover they were bare. Despite having one of the wettest winters the desert has had in decades, the trees were not part of the super bloom. I hurried to water them immediately. Two days later, they sprouted their first leaves. Ecstatic, I lay in my hammock for the first time in a while.

Soon, I felt a drop of water on my skin again. I gazed up at the sky, embraced by its radiating sunshine. Then, turning to look down at my arm, I saw it – a clear, tiny water droplet!

I digested for just a moment that I had seen it with my own eyes. Admiring these two trees in wonderment, I asked myself how many lives have they lived before?

These magical raining trees – are they crying? If they are crying … is it from joy or sadness?

“Which is it, oh magical trees?” I asked aloud.

“What has happened to your spirits that have resulted you to communicate this way? As the wind rustles your branches and you sprout new leaves, is it growing pains? Is it the happiness of being alive?”

“Will you tell me if I listen?”

In my blue striped hammock, I pray.

“I will listen intently, and watch for your tears,

For you both have been my confidantes these past few years,

You saw me weep as well,

Bared witness to my struggle on a fateful day,

That it takes to heal and grow in the desert.

You saw me laugh ’til I couldn’t anymore,

Whisked away as I read adventures through your branches.

I will hear your story, just as I have told you mine.

I will live inspired by your strength,

Lean into your supportive trunks,

Cherish it,

For there are so many stories your branches have to tell,

As they twist and turn throughout your life.

As you continue to thrive in the harshest of deserts.”

Lauren Bright resides in Morongo Valley. She considers her loves to be writing, dancing and painting. Also, she has a cat named Cat.